


Equivalent Exchange

by GenericUsername01



Series: PRIDE MONTH [11]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Confessions, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Vulcan Culture, pride month writing prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 13:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14978195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenericUsername01/pseuds/GenericUsername01
Summary: Prompt: ConfessionIn which Spock confesses.





	Equivalent Exchange

Spock rings the doorbell a third time, and  _ finally, _ the door is flung open by an irate human. Frank Gallaway is red in the face and glowering, eyes burning fire at Spock.

“A Vulcan? What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.

“We have some mutual business to attend to. May I come inside?” Spock asks politely.

The monster known as Frank eyes him suspiciously, then gives a gruff and gestures for him to enter. Spock walks in unobtrusively, then rounds on the human once the door closes.

“Alright, spit it out,” Frank said. “What are you here for?”

“To kill you.”

He blinks. “What.”

“Your stepson is James Tiberius Kirk, correct?”

“Jim’s involved in this?” he asks. “Did he put you up to this? Is this some sort of weird prank? I swear, that no--”

“Cease speaking immediately. I wish to inform you why you must die before I kill you, but if you insist on making that impossible, I am willing to skip the step.”

“Yeah fucking right. And I’m supposed to believe that? That you’re actually gonna kill me? You’re a  _ Vulcan. _ You guys are pacifists. Fucking vegetarians. There’s no way you’d ever harm a sentient--”

Spock began to approach the human, who quickly backed away. Fear flashed in his eyes at long last.

This would be most satisfactory.

“You will allow me to speak?” Spock asked.

Wordless, Frank nodded.

“I have come to kill you due to the crimes you perpetuated against James Kirk, the details of which I am sure you are aware. He is my mate now. My t’hy’la. It is an ancient warrior bond the likes of which are beyond your conception. Such a thing has not been seen in many centuries. It is a Vulcan’s solemn duty to exact retribution from all who would harm their t’hy’la. When I learned of the nature of your crimes against my Jim, I immediately determined that you must pay for them with your life. This is the only acceptable outcome.”

With every word that he spoke, more and more terror stole across Frank’s face. This was real. This was really happening. Jim’s Vulcan husband had traveled to Earth to commit ritualistic murder.

“S-so you and Jim, huh? He never told me.”

“I am aware that you are attempting to subtly inch left towards the comm device, Mr. Gallaway, and I must inform you that if you take one step further, I will kill you instantly.”

Frank froze like a deer caught in the headlights, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Spock looked at him placidly, the perfect Vulcan poker-face of control and logic.

“Al-Alright. Now, let’s talk about this reasonably. Logically. You’ll appreciate that, right? I mean, is there-- is there anything I can do to convince you not to kill me? Maybe we can make some sort of deal.”

“Negative. I have come here to kill you and will accept no other outcome. Your life has been rendered forfeit to pay for your crimes. There is no equivalent you can offer in its place.”

“But… But are you sure my-- what I did, is, um, equivalent to my life? I mean, that seems like a pretty hefty fine. I’m not sure it was all that bad.”

Spock’s eyes flashed. “You mean to justify your actions.”

“Yes! Yes. I mean-- I admit what I did was wrong, obviously, in your eyes, but is it really worth all this? I mean, think about it. Eventually someone will find out what you’ve done here. What you intend to do here. And that’ll ruin your entire life. You don’t want to do that, do you?”

“On the contrary, seeking such retribution is considered honorable in my culture. I have no intention of attempting to ‘cover-up’ your murder, as that would be dishonest and beneath me as a Vulcan.”

Frank just gaped. “Can I call the police then?”

“Negative. I do not wish for them to arrive before I have killed you, as they may attempt to prevent me from doing so.”

Frank stared.

“Do you have any last words?” Spock asked.

Frank backed up hurriedly, hands in the air. “Whoa whoa whoa, let’s not get hasty. What I did wasn’t so bad, really. I mean, the kid was asking for it.”

Spock did not reply, allowing the man to speak his turn. However, this did change things. He had previously intended to kill this abominable creature via tal-shaya-- a Vulcan method in which the neck is snapped instantly. It requires the utmost precision and was considered a merciful, honorable method of execution in ancient times.

Now Spock deems it to be too merciful. He will have Frank suffer at his hands before he dies, though no matter what pain he inflicts, it will pale in comparison to the way his precious Jim suffered.

Frank was still talking, still justifying his various abuses, but Spock was no longer listening. He did not care to hear this. He lunged at the human before he could react, yanking him forward by the throat and dragging him into the kitchen. He was grateful he had chosen to wear gloves for this occasion. Shields or no, he had no desire to contact the human’s thoughts even in the slightest brush; or indeed, he had no desire to touch the human directly at all.

He dragged the creature by the throat with a single hand, using the other to rummage through kitchen drawers until he found a large butcher knife. Perfect, most suitable to his desires. The Frank creature was gasping and clawing at his hand, struggling to pull away with his ineffectual human strength. Futile, and therefore illogical.

Spock informed him thus.

“Struggling is illogical and will only enhance your pain, as you have no reasonable hope of overcoming me.”

Frank’s eyes were wide with panic. He continued gasping and choking and tearing at Spock’s gloved hand. Spock could not help but think negatively of his intelligence.

In a fluid, almost carelessly graceful movement, he threw the human down onto the ground and held him, squirming, in place with a boot pressed down on his chest. Frank gasped great heaving breaths, and did his best to attempt to escape. Spock leaned down, inadvertently increasing the pressure on his abdomen and causing the human to howl in pain. He began to butcher the creature and systematically drain him of blood, much in the way that humans typically slaughtered other animals. The first step was to cut through his left shoulder, in a neat circle all the way through, scraping against the bone, tearing muscle and sinew and a major vessel, along with many lesser ones.

Spock had the strength necessary to sever the arm entirely, but he decided not to cut through the bone and instead leave it attached. Frank screamed uproariously. His arm twitched most pathetically, and the sound of knife scraping bone seemed to terrify him.

Spock repeated the procedure on his other arm with the same result.

He then cut around the bones of the human’s thighs, slicing them right at the juncture of his torso and circling all the way around. He had not bothered to disrobe Frank, and the fabric of his jeans became fused into the wounds and quickly soaked with blood, proving to be a most agonizing irritant.

Spock slowly unzipped the human’s pants and pulled them down, along with his ruined underwear. Frank was babbling incomprehensibly, screaming and gasping and begging for mercy, an endless mantra of  _ no _ and  _ please. _

Spock raised the butcher knife high above his head and brought it down with all the force he could muster, castrating the creature in a single motion and embedding the knife into the floor below slightly.

Frank  _ yowled. _ Hot red blood splattered onto Spock’s face and clothes.

It took not insignificant force to yank the knife back out of the groove it had created in the kitchen floor. Spock rose and examined his ruined, bleeding specimen of a monster. His face was soaked with tears and snot and sweat, and he was still blubbering incomprehensibly.

One last cut.

With all the grace and control of a Vulcan, Spock swiped the knife through Frank’s throat. His head rolled a few inches to the left.

* * *

 

Spock walked into the police station and strolled up to the receptionist. She pressed a button on her phone and looked at him expectantly.

“Yeah, hun? What can I do for you?”

“I am here to make a confession.”

Her face was instantly puzzled. “Um, okay. Let me just get the chief for you, alright?”

Spock nodded in acknowledgement and took a seat in the waiting area. He set his bag down next to him. A disreputable looking individual across the room eyed him curiously.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes later when a large, middle-aged human man approached him. “Flo here tells me that you want to confess to a crime? Now, I don’t know how things work on Vulcan, son, but here on Earth, in Riverside… Well, this is a small town. We don’t have many officers to spare and I’ll be honest, I don’t want to write you up if you accidentally littered or something. Town like this just simply doesn’t have major crimes. I know it ain’t orthodox, but you’re a Vulcan, and a Starfleet officer by the looks of it, and I don’t want to put something petty on your record just for the sake of it. Don’t get me wrong, I wish all citizens were this scrupulously honest, but I’m inclined to just send you on your way.”

“You seem to be laboring under a misapprehension, sir. My crime was not of a minor or petty nature.”

The police chief looked doubtful. “Alright, son. What’d you do?”

“This.” Spock lifted his bag and opened it to show the officer the severed head. “I believe a call to the Vulcan consulate is in order.”


End file.
